


bullfighters in ballgowns

by rikkitikki



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: BDSM, Cock Worship, F/M, Face-Sitting, Femdom, Power Play, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 18:42:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3299822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rikkitikki/pseuds/rikkitikki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I get it, you want to—"</p><p>"Ride the Bull, yes." She's a whisper of ruffles and fine silk passing him before he even knows it, leaving him leaning stupidly in her doorway. "Or rather, no. I am occupied for the remainder of the day with treatise work, Iron Bull. You will have to try again some other time. Please locate your pants and leave before the marquis arrives, which will be shortly."</p><p>Bull isn't exactly courting material, but Josephine isn't always particularly courtly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bullfighters in ballgowns

The Inquisitor is kind enough to try and let him down easy, although Bull had always seen it coming - _this close to crushing Corypheus, I can't have any distractions,_ he had said, the tips of his pointed ears reddened. What he meant was, 'I can't politically risk being suspected of fucking a Qunari on the side'. Bull cocks his head and reminds the Inquisitor, gently, that they had gone into this with the open agreement that it could end at any time, for whatever reason.

"Remember the word?" Bull says it softly, resisting the urge to tip Lavellan's chin up, make him look at something other than his bedroom floor. That part of their relationship is over. Lavellan eventually does glance up through his lashes, hands twisting over themselves in his lap.

"Katoh, Bull."

Bull smiles a little, claps him on the shoulder, and then takes him down to the Rest for a drink. Or two.

Or five. Maybe more. Bull stops counting around the time the sack mead comes into play, honestly.

They're not going anywhere for a few days. Leliana's scouts are busy looking for some elven crap out in the sticks, the Inquisitor is still mopping up business after Halamshiral, and Skyhold is hosting a slew of Antivan merchants come down to gawk at the mighty Inquisition while they hock their wares. The downtime gives Bull time to tamp down a hangover that could put saar-qamek to shame, sure, but he ends up idle, aimless and agitated. Ends up wandering to the courtyard, even, watching the merchants mill about until they notice him, breaking out in a wave of whispering and small, vaguely terrified noises. He's not unused to it, being Qunari and all. Being an _imposing_ Qunari and all.

"My lady," he catches one of the women whispering to someone at her side, "we deeply appreciate your hospitality, but the... individual on the barricades is upsetting my people. If you could direct him to leave—"

"I assure you, there is nothing to be upset about. The Iron Bull is an integral member of the Inquisition and no less trustworthy than the Inquisitor himself, and I have no grounds to order him away from his own keep." Josephine's voice is politely cutting, tone and wording amicable even if the look she sends isn't. The merchants seem surprised; Bull's a little surprised too, if he's being honest. "You are at the heart of the Inquisition - do you think we would allow you or your people to come to any harm, madame Fresca?"

"N—no, of course not, lady Montilyet." The woman ducks her head slightly. "We would not presume to tell you how to manage your stronghold."

"Excellent." Her tone is all sunshine, but Bull can see what's underneath that - it has teeth. _She_ has teeth, meeting his eye for just a moment, something conspiratorial playing across her fine features before she turns on her heel, herding the nobles. "Then we resume business."

After that, he starts paying more attention to her. It isn't because he's secretly touched in all his (admittedly few) soft, squishy places to have someone sticking up for him, but because she's interesting, something he's never encountered before. Seheron, Par Vollen - never anyone quite like her, because the Qunari have little need for diplomats who communicate in niceties and treaties while navigating treacherous territory, risking everything with every word. The fact that Josephine is even here today is a testament to how good she is at it, playing a Game that has no written rules and goes all in on every hand. The Ben-Hassrath in him can appreciate that.

She's like velvet wrapped around solid steel, Bull decides, around a blade. Lovely if you hold her right, but she'll slice you to ribbons if you're careless.

He starts paying more attention to her, and realizes that she's starting to pay more attention to him too. Has been, maybe, he gets so much attention here in Skyhold that it's kind of hard to separate individual attention unless he's really trying, but she is. She's wonderfully subtle about it, too - glancing at him when they pass in the halls, her eyes holding his for just one second too long to be accidental. The way he can feel eyes on him when he's in the main hall and she's up on the balcony where no one can see her staring, carving along his musculature sheened in sweat from sparring with his boys. The occasional whisper of silk ruffles across his skin as she moves around him, murmuring a little apology she doesn't mean.

And hey, he remembers her face when she'd walked in on him and the Inquisitor, eyes as big as dinner plates. She wants him the way the tavern girls want him, the way that blond young elven slip of a boy in Cullen's watch wants him - the way the Inquisitor had wanted him.

So he tests the water, makes sure that _she's_ sure of who and what she's flirting with, pretty little Antivan noblewoman like her - nobles seem to have this thing where they either hate him or want to fuck him, sometimes both, so it's always better to take things slow. He holds her gaze for those long moments when they pass in the hall, his eye warm and faintly suggestive where hers are casual - _right_ up until she's sure nobody can see her, and then there's sudden heat there, eyes holding him like a blast of dragon's fire before they pass. On one occasion, he accidentally knocks Krem into a wall while doing this.

He's not unfamiliar with the Antivan sport of bullfighting. She waves the flag and he follows, sure and hopelessly, because it's in his nature - because like the Qun, she's giving him a clear direction to charge in.

So when she walks into her private quarters and finds him sprawled out on her bed in nothing but his smalls - look, she's already seen the goods, he knows he's getting a gold star sticker here - she only seems a little surprised, jolting slightly with a sharp _oh,_ hand to her mouth. He lets her have the first word, which comes after a few long moments of staring; it takes him stretching a little to snap her out of it, eyes crawling back up to his.

"I... take it that this is an advance."

"It's whatever you want it to be. Nice bed, by the way." Pillowtop? He wants one, whatever it is. Bull shifts, sitting up with his wrists draped comfortably across his knees, hands hanging just between. Her eyes track down, and then up _again._ "I've been getting some signals, Jo. You eyefucking me in the halls aside, it's in your body language. The way you hold yourself when I'm around, what you do with your hands without realizing it." He laughs a little, standing. "Even the way you smell, a little."

" _Smell?_ " Her face is redder than a giant's ass, fingers curling unconsciously in the material of her blouse, and she _still_ manages to pick at his wording. Politicians!

"Yeah, it's a... thing, with you humans? You smell different when you're around someone you're attracted to. Pheromones or something." He walks slow, doesn't want to spook her, does want to give her the chance to back away if she wants - she doesn't, standing stalwartly in place as he comes closer. "Don't worry, it's not bad. Gonna be honest with you, Jo - you smell pretty good right now."

Deepening flush, slight intake of breath inconsistent with prior breathing patterns, unconscious straightening of her posture to give him a better look - they're all animals on the inside, even if they've managed to halfway civilize themselves. Bull too, and he knows it; it's only the Ben-Hassrath training that has him noticing how his stance widens a little, legs further apart, lips just barely parted for his exhales. They're just animals.

"I get what you've been saying, is what I mean." He leans in her doorframe, one massive arm propping the side of his head, careful of the horns. They're almost close enough to touch, and he can feel the heat radiating off of her. "I get it, you want to—"

"Ride the Bull, yes." She's a whisper of ruffles and fine silk passing him before he even knows it, leaving him leaning stupidly in her doorway. "Or rather, no. I am occupied for the remainder of the day with treatise work, Iron Bull. You will have to try again some other time. Please locate your pants and leave before the marquis arrives, which will be shortly."

They're animals, but she's got more of a leash on hers than he figured. The cool, collected way she carries herself on her way past him, gathering papers from her nightstand, the flawless poise, the masterfully hidden note of roughness in her tone; he'd figured she just wanted a roll with the Bull to say she did, or maybe just to have her cork popped, but it's _him_ that ends up slipping just a little bit when he sees her control in action. She reminds him of the way the Qun made him feel - not removal of desire and impulse, but _mastery_ of it, of the self, the safety in that.

It takes her brushing close a second time to snap him out of the haze, even if it was only momentary. He's not hard, but there's a slight lick of heat down into his pelvis that he can't ignore. Josephine meets his eye as she passes, and her knuckles scraping just barely across his stomach are no accident.

"The mattress is goosedown, by the way. You should try to find one of your own, assuming you wouldn't prefer a firmer down. They are... exquisite." And she's gone, heading back to her office with papers in tow. "Good evening, Iron Bull."

Well, slap his ass and call him dathrasi. Josephine waves the flag, and for the moment, Bull watches it flutter out of reach.


End file.
